


When You Were Young

by Wolvesandwerewolves



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14195886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolvesandwerewolves/pseuds/Wolvesandwerewolves
Summary: In the end, the marshals are the ones who discover the Raphael. Not Sara.It brings with it a chain of events that no one saw coming--and no one is prepared for it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my first ever work on here, St. Louis is Just a Memory.

This is a moment Sara has been dreaming about for years. She has spent late nights and long showers thinking about it. She's worked towards it for years, never gave up even when her company did officially. Since the moment she was assigned this case, she has been longing for this.

And yet . . . it doesn't feel like she thought it would.

The Raphael is beautiful, even moreso in person—but the knowledge that's it's the real Raphael and not a forgery is something she can't quite grasp yet. It's spread out on the table, officially authenticated by an art expert. Government officials flock around it.

It doesn't feel real. But it is real and it's happening. Right now.

Sara thought she would feel relieved, at the very least. Excited. Victorious. Proud.

But this wasn't her discovery and even if it were, she's certain horror would still curdle in her stomach like illness. Like dread.

Like death.

The apartment is nice, spacious, clean except for scattered papers and junk on the floor. Probably, the marshals did that. The place is crowded with boxes, but it still feels lively. There are plants in the kitchen, on the window sills. Outside, the porch is overflowing with flowers, their brilliant colors fading as they die slowly. Art leans up against the walls inside, taken down to be put away in storage or sold. Everything will be packed up and put away, no memory of the person who used to live here. Sara doesn't even know their name, how they died. The marshals won't tell her anything.

They're the ones asking her questions.

“Ms. Ellis,” one of them says, shifting on his feet. Sara can't be bothered to recall his name, but he gave her a card. “You’ve been trying to recover _St. George and the Dragon_ for years—correct?”

Sara nods, deliberately relaxing and setting her shoulders back. She will not let them know how distressed she is. “Yes—however, when it failed to be recovered after the suspect was unable to be convicted, and when it didn't surface after a period of time, Sterling-Bosch cashed the claim.”

“And your suspect was a man by the name of _Neal Caffrey?”_ Sara sits down on a hard metal chair, next to a wall of flowers she doesn't know the name of. She crosses her leg, tries to look professional and at ease. “Convicted of bond forgery?”

 _This is routine._ But she doesn't know why they're here.

“Yes. But that's all he's been convicted of—currently, he's even serving out his sentence with the FBI.”

The marshal nods, slowly. He's uncomfortable. He should be better at hiding it. “You two are friends?”

 _Dammit_. Don't overplay your hand. “I wouldn't go that far.” They haven't talked since she left him. They haven't talked since Matthew Keller and the Nazi treasure. “Caffrey and I have worked a few overlapping cases.”

The marshal glances down at the file he's holding, but his eyes don't wander the page. He doesn't want to look at her. “We have reason to believe you two knew each other well—that isn’t the case?”

Sara sits up straighter. She can't lie, but she can stall. “Yes. We used to be close. People drift away.”

“But you knew him well. Have you ever talked about things unrelated to a case? Anything personal?”

Sara rubs her thumb along her wrist. She's not sure where they're going with this, but she knows she won't like it.

She hopes becoming friends with a criminal doesn't end her career. She's too damn good at her job for that.

“Occasionally, yes. Nothing . . . significant that I can remember.”

The marshal nods, glancing at his partner. Sara can't read what's in his face. She doesn't like it.

“Has he ever talked to you about his childhood?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would wait until tomorrow to post the next chapter, but that was at, like, one in the morning. I went to bed, I woke up. It's tomorrow. 
> 
> I have zero impulse control

Neal leans against the window in the conference room. Two marshals sit in front of him, backs stiff, mouths firm. With how he's standing, he can see behind them, into the bull pen, but it will be hard for anyone to see his face well enough to read it. Peter is ever so casually getting coffee—again—and talking with Jones and Diana. He doesn't want Neal to speak with the marshals alone. He doesn't know what this is.

But Neal has a pretty good idea what this is about. He allowed this to happen, ignored the confused, slightly panicked looks on the other agent's faces. He'll talk to Peter about it later.

Or maybe he won't.

_We recovered the Raphael last night._

_Neal, they asked me about your childhood._

_Is your real name Neal?_

He wonders what happened to Ellen. Neal read the obituary in the newspaper this morning, but there was nothing there about how she died.

Maybe he's paranoid, but Mozzie is on his way to St. Louis now. He hasn't talked to his mother since he was eighteen, and he still has no real desire to.

But Ellen's death has made him nervous, anxious. There's a feeling in the pit of his stomach he can't identify. His thoughts keep going back to St. Louis.

He feels eighteen again.

“What would you have done, if you found out your entire life was a lie?”

Neal told more lies, integrated them into his entire being until they were comforting, not betraying. He ran away.

“Mr. Caffrey,” Marshal Williams says, “this isn't about me. It's about you. I can't answer that.”

Perhaps his method shouldn't be recommended. Maybe others would have done better.

“Yes,” Neal says, finally sitting down in the chair across from them. “I ran away when I was a kid—left WitSec.”

"The marshals have been looking for Danny Brooks for a long time." Williams and Porter glance at each other. “Do you know why you were in Witness Protection?”

Yes. “My mother never told me.”

“And yet,” Porter says, “she _did_ tell you you were in the program?”

“Ellen told me.” Neal pauses—it’s a perfect time for a distraction. And a chance to get answers. “What happened? I read her obituary this morning.”

They glance at each other again. Something stirs in Neal's chest. “We believe she was murdered,” Williams says. “Her apartment was trashed—whoever did this was probably looking for evidence. Before her transition into WitSec, it was rumored that Ms. Parker made copies of and kept important files pertaining to the case she was working on.”

“The case,” Neal says, although he knows exactly what they're talking about.

Porter clears his throat. Quietly, he explains his father's crimes, the murder he committed and the enemies he made. Neal never knew the details before, just the basics. He tries to memorize everything. It's a lot of information. Tonight, it will be a lot of research.

“So you think someone from my father's past found her and wanted information.” Neal doesn't want to think about what that means. It must have been a slow death. He takes a deep breath, glancing away, shifting so the marshal’s provide cover. He doesn't want Peter to be watching him.

  
Williams mimics him, breath loud and apprehensive. Neal doesn't want to hear what he has to say next.

“Mr. Caffrey—your father was released from prison almost a year ago. His parole officer hasn't seen him in six months. We have no idea where he is.”

“Right now,” Porter says, “James Bennet is our current suspect.” 


	3. Chapter 3

"What was that about?" Peter asks, voice low with warning and intrigue. 

The marshals glance over at him, but Neal subtlely shakes his head. Peter casually places his hand on Neal's shoulder as they walk behind Williams and Porter, squeezing briefly. He's worried, but anger and fear are on it's tail. It's obvious this isn't  _nothing._

He has until they make it to the elevator and then the car for privacy to decide what he wants to tell Peter. The marshals advised against telling anyone, even Hughes--they simply said it was a personal matter of utmost importance and urgency. 

Neal should do the same.

But this is  ~~~~ _Peter._ He has to say something, even if it's not the whole truth. 

And he has options. 

_It was nothing, Peter. My father is missing, but I haven't seen him years._

Or _, A friend of mine in protective custody died. They wanted to let me know._

Or _, My mother is coming to town for a funeral and she wants to see me._

_I grew up in WitSec but ran away when I was a kid. They finally connected the dots._

_The Raphael was recovered and they had questions._

Honestly, the last one is the easiest--Peter will probably find out about the Raphael sometime sooner or later. But it also feels the most dishonest. 

 Each one is a puzzle piece but Neal's not sure how much he wants Peter to know. 

The elevator dings as the doors open. A few people get off, nodding to them on their way. Neal and Peter step in behind the marshals, each staying to one side. 

The silence is terse. Neal can see Porter glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes. He wonders if he's that predictable. If he's spent too much time being lawful that he's lost his touch. 

But how can he be predictable if he's not even sure what he's going to say, himself? 

 The elevator rolls to a stop, dinging as the open again. They all step out, a small line headed towards the parking garage. The marshals glance over at them as they get in their car. The doors slam shut and then they're alone in the parking garage. Neal still doesn't answer Peter. 

_A friend of mine died._

_My mother is coming to New York._

_My father is a murderer._

_I'm not who you think I am._

"Neal?" Peter asks, opening the door of the Taurus and stepping inside, frowning. 

Neal sighs, opening his own doors. Peter deserves the truth, but if what Porter and Williams say about the case is true, it could be dangerous. Even if it's not, it's incredibly personal information that Neal isn't willing to share. He's never been an open book. 

But he has to say something. 

"My mom is coming to town soon for a funeral."

"And the marshals had to tell you that?" Peter asks, suspicion coloring his tone. 

"Considering she's in Witness Protection, yeah." Neal glances out the window, shrugging. "I haven't seen her since I was eighteen."

He looks back to Peter in time to see him blinking, a frown creasing the lines of his mouth, eyebrows pressed together. "Really?"

Neal nods. It's the truth, carefully crafted to look like something else. 

 Peter nods back. "Alright," he says. "Anything else? Do I get to meet her?" 

Neal chuckles, shakes his head. "Not if I have any say in the matter." He pauses, glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eye. "But there is something else."

"Yeah?"

"You might want to talk to Sara about the Raphael." 

Peter slams on the breaks a little too hard, wincing. He takes a deep breath, pinching between his eyebrows. 

"What?" Neal asks, feigning complete innocence. "I didnt do anything."  _This time._

"Of course you didnt," Peter says. "I don't want to know."

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos or comments! I'm not sure how fast I'll update, as I can't seem to stop starting new fics before finishing my current ones. I'm trying to continue with at least three other series as well. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! I have the next chapter already written, so it should be updated by tomorrow but I thought I'd exercise some self control (for once) and only post one chapter tonight.


End file.
